Stories From the Deep Vol 2
by Independent Cataclysm
Summary: Man's darksign was misunderstood as a gift that allowed them to escape death. Once this gift was put into question the inquiry into the abyss began, that day a priest became a scholar.
1. Act 0

_**Stories From the Deep Vol. 2**_

" _A man's at odds to know his mind cause his mind is aught he has to know it with. He can know his heart, but he don't want to. Rightly so. Best not to look in there. It ain't the heart of a creature that is bound in the way that God has set for it. You can find meanness in the least of creatures, but when God made man the devil was at his elbow. A creature that can do anything. Make a machine. And a machine to make the machine. An evil that can run itself a thousand years, no need to tend it._

 _For here beyond men's judgments, all covenants were brittle."_

 _~Blood Meridian_


	2. Act 1

_Act 1: The Mourning Ritual_

Most of the house giveth plenty, which is more than the lion's share, for that we are grateful. O'r days are filled with purpose, each morn we sing the gospels of the old miracles and dawn great warmth into the hearts of men. At dusk we tend to the graves, rest their souls, so they may keep their sleep. Lest they be one of the rising husks, we lay them back into earth's bosom.

We have committed those who willed it to ash, while the others are receiving their final rites. True peace lies in the solemn dark, tis a depth few will brave and none with the power to shunt it entirely. By this merit we devote ourselves to this road, picketed by great bloodshed, to ensure dignity for the deceased. Some say we're engaging in a tryst with death, those souls couldn't be more wrong. We have a divine warmth embedded within.

Etched on o'r hearts a ring of fire, a sigil of unconditional love from the gods as tribute to o'r devotion. However, one was left unsatisfied and despite his inclinations, we respect the wisdom of o'r eldest. An assertion, most heretical, is that this gift is a curse. That it is not etched on o'r hearts rather shackling o'r souls. Perhaps the inner most part of ourselves is truly dark…and considering none properly researched this inquiry shouldn't be discounted.

Mayhaps it tis a necessary fate that we silence o'r song, and shift o'r role from men of rites to research. Tis a cruel alignment, then again perhaps o'r routine is a damnation, that we are consigned to servitude.

It was once that we gave the dead everlasting peace when do we get to die? When is o'r time? When do we get to rest in a cold, dark place? When do we get peace?

O'r elder posited a simple inquiry, not a heresy, but a question grinding nonetheless.

" _When the candles go out and the light fades, who are we then?"_

Who are we indeed? Are we free? Can we finally die? Is this ring of fire a prison?

So much needs answering, he alone shall brave the depths of the abyss with to learn o'r nature. To learn of the dark, the below, how not light but flame is life. Be it as it may warmth cannot exist without sacrifice. It requires fuel to maintain itself.

We refuse to become ash for some nameless light. We will pursue and return as wardens on o'r post to grant death for we are not jailors.

He is right, man deserves dignity.


	3. Act 2

Act 2: _Dreg Heap Gospels_

We look inside ourselves, at the sigil of men, we have taken to calling this brand 'darksign.' Only those who claim hearth in the below wear them on their hearts. Should we be considered guilty just for being born?

To truly understand the dark is to understand its converse, light needeth fuel. By that merit alone dark is more natural because nothing is required to sustain it. When the fuel runs out, all returns to it. Gods are gluttonous creatures that require sustenance, men need little else than freedom, be it an illusion. Our nature is that of choice, if we become unshackled from the god's 'love' then men, perceptibly, would choose the dark.

Men herald their brand as a gift 'cause he needn't fear death, what is a life of madness but hollow?

Ignorance stifles fear, and with trepidation none men will accept this life like cattle.

Twas once said 'the gods shackles are fragile,' and quite so. Their strength is precisely that, and perhaps the gods require sacrifice because they themselves run constantly from their own plight of mortality. Men were made to inherit this land, and we will conquer what is rightfully ours. To do so my wardens will have to become more than haggard executioners. Furthermore, our faith must ascend with knowledge, we have to believe we know what is true. This is a path that must be followed regardless of cost of life nor weight of action.

Three men of Thorolund relinquished each a luxurious bracelet with which white brilliance illuminates, though I have recently embraced a world of purity the light has given my pilgrimage comfort nonetheless. Throughout my travels I found the revenants of New Londo wandering around its battered rooks and drenched walks. Twas not by the abyss, for it produced no such creatures, rather men's own doing. Neigh, kings tempted by an old serpent with the strength to plunder life from their own kin. That cursed beast is an agent of discord, not a representative of the abyss and not fit to guide men.

I'm certain of it, men are turning on the other, madness begetting madness to keep our wits dull for herding, that is what the light does. That's all it is good for, because when our candles go out we are free to move about in the dark unbound from our shadows.


	4. Act 3

Act 3: The Black Hymns

Men must be shewn a proper flame, new bed which the seed of faith may be given life. For the honest essence of humanity lies in not a shadow tailing it, a flame's consort to observe our movements, neigh. Their nature be true when they are unshackled from shadow and, ultimately, we may seek a will of our own. Though the dark gnaws at my flesh, I will abide for this is a course worth charting. Though it matters little what we believe when we know that freedom is the outcome. This book, this paltry thing, I will leave in my stead a testament to order and as an igniter of new flame, a black flame.

Tis the prospect of men's legitimacy to the above that this tome be passed. It should be known that Gwyn, the Jailor, tailored the dark sign to shrink fringes of humanity. However, he made the fatal error of selecting a ring of warmth from the first flame to supplant strength. It may have made men and lords, but it most certainly couldn't sustain itself. Neigh, it will eventually burn itself out and the blackest flames will move freely, and men will be without shadows.

It is said that men came from the great below from the guilty pigmies, tempered from the dark soul shared and split for ages. What is so guilty about sharing power? The Lord of Shackles knew that humanity needn't great strength to produce our Lord and shepherd the next natural order.

Tis better to die a man cold and dark than to life forever warm and shackled.


End file.
